


Pivot And Slip

by alilactree



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alilactree/pseuds/alilactree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is a former boxer still struggling with the demons of his past. Kurt is a yoga instructor who may be able to help Blaine with his pent up frustrations, and find the confidence to go after what he wants in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The left hook felt wrong from the moment he’d twisted forward; too wide and too high, leaving him open to the quick jab that landed on his temple. His head snapped back, then the entire room started to spin around him. Blaine allowed his opponent to crowd him up against the ropes, seeking refuge behind his gloved hands, until the ref stepped in and broke them up. 

Blaine wobbled back into position, the urgent instructions from his trainer sounding like they were being shouted from underwater, muffled and muddled and dull, the cheering crowd drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Blaine shook his pounding head roughly and bounced from foot-to-foot. This was his title he was defending, no way was he going down that easily.

He played the defensive for a while; ducking, bobbing, using his coiled reflexes like a snake stalking its prey, just waiting for the right moment. He pounced, a quick powerful cross to the chin. It hit perfectly, even though Blaine’s balance was off, even though it burned white-hot through his shoulder and crunched across his knuckles. He’d worry about that later. After he’d won. 

The ground lurched and swayed beneath him as he weaved to block another jab, but his limbs were heavy and slow and it was too late. He had just enough time to see the world fade to black at the edges of his swimming vision before hitting the floor face first, the ref counting down as his world slipped and shimmered and tumbled from his grasp. Then everything was gone.

—

Kurt hummed softly to himself as he changed, folding his street clothes neatly and setting them in a pile onto the top shelf of his locker. His spot was prime real estate, tucked into the far corner behind the showers, away from the main changing area. He was usually the only person back there, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays, his Yoga For Seniors days. He could hear his students over the spray of the showers, discussing the upcoming Yankee season, ribbing the few Mets fans. 

He found that he needed the moments of solitude back there before launching into teacher mode, and the fact that it smelled mostly like shampoo and Old Spice body wash didn’t hurt. It sure beat the eau de body odor that permeated the rest of the locker room. 

“Hey, Kurt! There you are! Have I told you about my granddaughter yet? Kindergarten teacher, nice childbearing hips!”

Kurt tried his best to not grimace and turned around with a plastered on smile. It would seem that his perpetual singleness was pathetic enough that even his octogenarian pupils were now picking up on it. This was the sixth time in the last few weeks that he’d been told about someone’s granddaughter or great niece, or once, a recently widowed friend. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Murray, really. But I very much doubt that she’s my type,” Kurt said politely. He’d quickly learned that getting right to the point was the only way to shake them off. 

Murray’s face fell and he scratched at his mostly bald head, then grinned and snapped his fingers. “Howard’s grandson! Howie! Isn’t he a florist?”

As Murray shuffled off to find Howard (and hopefully some clothes, why did all of these conversations seem to happen when the other party was sans clothing?) Kurt called out a quick “See you in class!” and made his escape. He was perfectly capable of finding dates on his own. Besides, he had to set up before class started anyway. A florist. Honestly.

But when Kurt got to the studio room and flicked the lights on, he was surprised to see someone already there, standing in the middle of the room like he was lost. 

“Um, hello. This is Senior Yoga. If you’re looking for the weight training class it meets in studio four downstairs.”

He was certainly not a senior citizen, Kurt guessed they were about the same age, and didn’t really look like any yoga student Kurt had ever worked with. He was compact with thick ropes of wiry muscles running down both arms and the exposed shoulders peeking out from the straps of his tank top. 

Kurt slipped off his shoes and crossed the room, lifting a stack of mats to start spreading them over the gleaming hardwood. From the corner of his eye he could see the man’s reflection in the mirror covering the back wall, shifting nervously and rubbing at the back of his neck before picking up a purple mat for himself.

“I know. It’s the only class open. The lady at the front desk said it was okay…no it’s weird. I should go. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Kurt dropped the stack of mats onto the floor heavily and stepped over to stop him. “No don’t,” Kurt blurted, then his breath caught. Not only was the guy gorgeous, but this close up Kurt could see the lingering evidence of some recent injuries. A yellowing bruise under one eye, a bandage wrapped around his left hand, and an angry scar stretching across one temple then disappearing under a thicket of dark curls. 

“I- I mean, you paid for it, right? May as well get your money’s worth out of it. I don’t mind a little fresh meat,” Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. “I mean, young meat. I mean. Oh god.” Maybe Handsome Stranger would be better off leaving after all. Clearly Kurt wasn’t fit to even be in close proximity to men on his own, let alone date them. 

But the guy smiled warmly and Kurt’s stomach swooped. “Yeah. May as well.” The rest of the class started to trickle in then, and Kurt heaved the mats off the floor so he could finish setting them out. “I’m Blaine.”

“Kurt. And I’ll be your fumbling, awkward yoga instructor today,” Kurt gave a little curtsey, mats spilling from his arms.

“Besides, maybe you came here for a reason, Blaine. Sometimes our mistakes lead us to our destinies.” 

Kurt could feel Blaine’s eyes track him as he finished setting up, then stood in front of the class gathered around the room, sitting cross-legged on their rainbow hued mats. Kurt expected Blaine to catch on and follow their leads, like most new students, but he just stood on his mat, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists. 

Then just as Kurt started the guided meditation to begin the session, Blaine stalked across the room to the door, flinging it open then slamming it behind him with an echoing bang.


	2. Chapter 2

The abrupt storm out had left Kurt off-kilter and unable to focus for the duration of his class, he’d even botched his Tree Pose demonstration, which he could otherwise do half asleep, and was then forced to brush off several concerned grandmotherly queries and a somewhat worrying exaggerated wink from Murray. 

He scowled and stabbed his finger at the computer keyboard behind the front desk, looking for this Blaine (Blaine Anderson, aha!) so he could contact him and inform him how unimpressive his little show was. He lives with Rachel Berry, Kurt knows what a flounce should look like and that wasn’t one, but nice try.

Kurt typed the numbers into his phone, feeling just a little ridiculous now that the initial annoyance was wearing off. Blaine had seemed so nice (and cute) at the start of class. What could have prompted such a reaction? 

Slumping forward in the chair Kurt sighed and rested his head wearily onto his hand. That kind of anger usually came from internalized pain. Kurt knew this all too well. Wasn’t that why he became captivated by yoga in the first place? A way to release that toxic energy and stress? 

Kurt tucked his phone back into his gym bag, pressing the off button until Blaine Anderson’s name and phone number faded away. As he ascended the stairway back to the studio to begin setting up for his advanced class, Kurt felt a heavy tug of concern. Maybe he would just call him to see if Blaine would be willing to give the class one more try. Reach out to him as a concerned teacher.

But when he rounded the corner and passed by the main work-out area, he caught a flash of flying fists and a punching bag swinging heavily from its chain. Drawn in by curiosity and concern and some other force that seemed to be propelling him closer and closer, Kurt watched as Blaine twisted and punched and grunted. Everything about him was closed off and rigid. Arms tucked in tight to his body, then out and back in sudden bursts of kinetic energy. His back was tense, muscles coiled and flexing, his shirt clinging to his torso with sweat.

But it was his face that really brought Kurt up short. Where he had looked wide-eyed and earnest before, then that brief burst of fury, he now looked dangerous and desperate; eyebrows drawn low, eyes tightened to slits, nose flaring. His jaw clenched so tight Kurt could see the tendons working as Blaine ground his teeth. 

Kurt was right. It wasn’t anger, it was pain.

Then suddenly Blaine hit the bag straight on so hard that it scraped against the chain and listed heavily to the side. He cursed loudly and tore the red glove off his fist using his teeth, then cradled it in his other still gloved hand with a wince.

“Are you okay?” Kurt crossed the room without thinking, moving into Blaine’s space. Blaine glanced up briefly, but looked away and hunched his shoulders when he saw it was Kurt.

“I’m fine.”

Kurt was close enough now to see his hand and hummed in agreement. “Oh yes, I’m sure your fingers always look that purple and swollen. Totally normal.”

Blaine whipped his head up and stared at Kurt with narrowed eyes. Kurt shifted uncomfortably, worried he’d provoked him further, but then Blaine’s body relaxed minutely and he dropped his head low and chuckled quietly. 

“Maybe it hurts a little,” he admitted sheepishly. Blaine lifted his arm to unstrap the other glove, then passed it across his brow to wipe the rivulets of sweat away. “I should, uh, get home. Put some ice on it.”

“Oh no, I’ll get some for you. Gym policy, follow me.” Kurt turned and started to head toward the tiny employee breakroom, hoping Blaine would follow him and not ask for any further clarification. It wasn’t gym policy. Actually, it might have been. Kurt never really got around to reading the employee handbook, since at the time, fresh out of college, he’d thought this would be a temporary gig. Just something to tide him over until he could start his real career. And yet, a year later, here he was.

Kurt dug around in the employee freezer, past the ice maker and a Lean Cuisine labeled in thick Sharpie: Karen’s. DO NOT EAT or I will hunt you down. I mean it and the boxes of popsicles for the summer camp kids, until he found an icepack.

“Here we go,” Kurt said triumphantly, waving the blue gel pack around in front of him and closing the freezer door with his elbow. Blaine accepted it with a quiet thank you and sucked in a breath through his teeth. “So did the bag fight back or…”

Blaine balanced the icepack across his knuckles. “Actually I broke a couple of bones about a month ago. Landed a punch wrong during a fight. Hitting the bag may not have been my best idea,” he admitted, eyes still focused intently on his hand. 

“A fight? Like a bar brawl?” Kurt sized him up. He didn’t look like the drunken bar fight type, despite the furious beating he just gave the punching bag. There was just something about him that seemed so sweet and kind. 

But Blaine chuckled again and shook his head bashfully, and Kurt wondered just how often he’d be able to get Blaine to do that if they spent a lot of time together. In class. Of course.

“I’m a boxer,” Blaine said, then his face fell. “Or I was, anyway.” Something flashed across Blaine’s eyes then and Kurt could see his jaw clamp tight again, working and clenching, and his breath started to come out in shallow puffs through his flaring nose as Blaine seemed to be visibly trying to calm himself.

By instinct Kurt grasped Blaine’s free hand and stretched it across the distance between them to set it gently against his abdomen. Kurt could feel soft tremors shaking through Blaine’s fingers, the vibrations pulsing through Kurt’s t-shirt. Blaine’s eyes widened as Kurt took a deep breath, filling his diaphragm and then his lungs, and let it out steadily.

“Breathe,” he instructed, then inhaled again, nodding when Blaine started to follow along. They breathed together, a slow circuit in and out and in, and Kurt could see with every exhale how Blaine seemed to be calming, bit by bit, his shoulders and neck loosening and hand going lax and stretching wide across Kurt’s torso, from ribcage to belly button.

Kurt focused on sending him a calming energy, passing it out from his body into Blaine’s, until his eyes blinked closed and his mouth parted, then Kurt found himself completely thrown off by the length of Blaine’s eyelashes and the lushness of his mouth. 

Kurt’s breath hitched on an inhale and Blaine startled, then opened his eyes; icepack falling to the ground with a soft thud. And when his hand flexed over Kurt’s stomach and he dropped his gaze to Kurt’s lips then back up, heavy-lidded and dark, the energy hummed and crackled between them.

“Hummel, I swear to god if you ate my fiesta chicken I will castrate you.” 

Karen bustled into the breakroom all swishing ponytail and hideous purple lycra-blend workout clothes, pushing past Kurt until he stumbled forward, hip bumping into Blaine’s. Blaine stepped back and pulled his hand away like he’d been burned, and Kurt had never wanted to brain someone with their own frozen convenience foods as he did in that moment.

“Like I would ever eat congealed meat and flaccid vegetables in bland sauce, have we met?” Kurt snarked, recovering his wits quickly.

Blaine bent to pick up the icepack from the floor, pressing his lips in against a grin. Karen ignored them and threw the frozen tray into the (filthy) microwave, grumbling under her breath as it made slow rotations inside and the timer ticked down.

“I should probably go,” Blaine said, setting the icepack on the table and then backing out the door. 

Kurt followed to stand against the door frame. “Sorry about her. She’s actually the best trainer here.” Kurt tipped his head in thought. “Probably because she’s so evil.”

“Well, that is one way to get results.” Blaine looked away, uninjured hand opening and closing at his side. “But I think I like your methods better. Thank you, by the way.”

His eyes met Kurt’s again, golden and rounded and so earnest that Kurt’s heart swelled with concern again; why did he care about this guy so much? 

“Sure. Just, no hitting things for awhile? If that punching bags pesters you again, you let me know and I’ll take care of it for you. I got your back,” Kurt said, circling his hands in fists in front of him, mock-punching. 

Blaine smiled and ducked his head, turning away.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Blaine paused to look over his shoulder, sweaty and rumpled and so heartbreakingly sweet. “No, not really,” he replied.


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, now move into Cobra, remembering to go only as far as you feel comfortable.” Moving around the studio as he talked, Kurt paused to straighten out a foot here, help widen shoulders there. “And breathe. In. Out.” 

He’d been thrilled to see Blaine shuffle in with the rest of the students a week later, still looking shy and unsure, but there with his hand looking back to normal and the bruising under his eye barely visible. Kurt hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, his mind circling wildly from chagrin to concern and to far more impure thoughts. Leading right back around to chagrin. 

Instructing the class to transition into Cat Pose, he moved around the room pressing his fingertips to stretched out backs, reminders to exhale as they curved upwards, and made his way to Blaine in the far corner while wondering if he’d inadvertently crossed a line and made Blaine uneasy. He danced a hand out to help him; too tight, too drawn and rigid, then Blaine saw him and drew in further and Kurt was sure he had.

It had been a revelation to him when he’d first moved to New York. There he could socialize and mingle and interact without being treated like he was contagious. Then his first Yoga class that Rachel had insisted they take together, where he found touch to be guiding and careful and calm. He’d almost forgotten what it was like; seeing someone lift a hand and bracing for the hurt that inevitably came. 

Calling out for Warrior Pose, a more difficult one for some of his Tuesday and Thursday morning students, he approached Blaine cautiously, moving around him slowly as if he were a startled foal. 

“Hands flat,” he said softly, ghosting his own open palm under the curl of Blaine’s to demonstrate. Not touching. Not quite. Blaine puffed his cheeks and blew out a frustrated breath, stretching his fingers. “Keep your front foot straight and bend at the knee.” Blaine’s face knitted itself tight into strained concentration as he tipped forward, arms spread, his loose cut-off sweatpants sliding up his leg as he did so.

Kurt had been so busy noticing the obvious muscles in Blaine’s upper body that he’d somehow completely missed the strength in his thighs. He swallowed and forced himself to focus. 

“You’re tipping forward too far. Try to focus on keeping your back straight.”

Blaine huffed and dropped his arms down, that dark flash of anger distorting his features. “I’m awful at this. How am I the worst one in this class? It’s pathetic.”

“Hey not all of us are deaf, you know!” Murray called from in front of them. Kurt tried for a soothing smile as Blaine stuttered an embarrassed apology. 

“Ignore him,” Kurt said, then tipped his head and mock whispered, “He’ll be mostly deaf soon enough.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shot up at Murray’s indignant “I heard that!” and finally cracked a grin when Kurt sang back, 

“For no-ow.” He clapped his hands together. “Alright go on to Downward Dog. Be aware of any lightheadedness and Howard let’s try to keep our eyes on the mat and not what Janet is doing in front of you, hmm?”

The class tittered and Howard grumbled to himself. He walked around again, helping a few of them into position, bracing hips as they bent over and stretched out their hands onto the ground. 

Blaine wobbled a little as he struggled to hold the pose and Kurt reached out to steady him, but pulled back abruptly when Blaine flinched away at his touch. 

“I’m sorry. I keep making you uncomfortable.” 

“No. I-” Blaine shook his head, then crouched down on the mat, poking a finger into a small tear on the corner and refusing to meet Kurt’s eyes. 

Kurt was starting to worry that it was more than Blaine just being uneasy with touch. That maybe he was uneasy with him. It had been a long time since someone had been that wary of him, that put off by something he had no control over and was simply a part of who he was. 

Ignoring the hollowed out feeling in his stomach and the creeping echo of Kurt from the past, guarded and defiant and using his body language like a shield, Kurt slipped between Blaine and the wall next to him, asking the rest of the class to go ahead and relax into Corpse Pose.

“Try to copy what I’m doing.” Because as much he wanted to stalk away and leave Blaine to stew in his own discomfort, he was a teacher - a damn good one, and he wasn’t about to let anyone get less than his absolute best at all times. 

Kurt got on all fours then shifted back with his arms out in front of him and popped his hips up high, stretching his legs out straight. So maybe it was a little difficult for him to hold his head up high when it was hanging upside down between his arms and when he possibly could have picked a better position than one that had him sticking his-

Blaine made a choked off noise next to him and Kurt angled his head slightly to see what was wrong, worried that Blaine had hurt his back by not doing the pose correctly. But he was still hunched on the mat watching Kurt demonstrate the position, hands clenched on the edge, eyes wide and fixed unmistakably on Kurt’s ass where it was pushed up into the air, and- Oh. 

Oh.

He sort of wanted to preen a little, but that was unprofessional of course. Not to mention a tad uncouth. And if he swayed his hips while walking up to the front just a bit more than was necessary to dismiss everyone, well. He was just energized after a good session, was all. 

He stood by the door, a constant stream of ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you Tuesday’ and Murray stepping in close to him to say out of the corner of his mouth, “I may be losing my hearing but I sure ain’t blind,” with another wink as he passed by. And while Kurt was gaping after him trying to figure out exactly what that was supposed to mean, Blaine stopped in the doorway, one hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry I’m so hopeless,” he sighed.

“You are not hopeless, Blaine.” His fingertips settled on Blaine’s forearm before he caught himself and pulled back. Blaine was obviously not what Kurt had assumed, but still. There were lines. He was a student. “You just need to relax.”

“Yeah, I…struggle with that. A bit.” Blaine scrunched his nose up adorably and Kurt just barely resisted the urge to boop it with his index finger.

“Well, I’m sure I can find a way to loosen you up,” Kurt replied, then cringed at Blaine’s startled expression. Way to not the cross the line there. “I- I mean. You’re so tense and I can help you out. Not help you out. Relieve the tension. Not like that! Oh, god. I’m shutting up now.”

Kurt briefly considered dropping down and assuming the Downward Dog position again, just so he could distract Blaine long enough to make a run for it and then never show his face at the Westside YMCA ever again, but then Blaine did that completely disarming bashful laugh again and ducked his head.

So maybe Blaine had taken his offer in the spirit he’d intended. No need to panic, just a teacher reaching out to a student in need. He could steer this conversation around to more neutral waters, no problem.

“You know, just some hands-on assistance. And that still sounds like I’m propositioning you. My sincere apologies.” Kurt sighed and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “I had a small breakfast. Clearly I’m delirious from hunger.” 

“…right, so. I’ll see you next week?”

“Uh-huh,” Kurt mumbled into the wood.

“And Kurt?”

“Mmm?”

“I definitely wouldn’t mind having you help me relieve some tension.” 

By the time Kurt had registered what he’d said and snapped his head up, Blaine was walking down the hallway, leaving him with nothing but an empty room and his own overactive mind. Well, at least it wasn’t a swirl of worry and confusion and embarrassment any more. Instead it was settled firmly on the impure. And more specifically on the downright indecent shift and flex of Blaine’s ass as he walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

“So was he flirting with you or not?”

Kurt shrugged and took a bite of his pretzel, meandering towards the pond as joggers and bikers whizzed past them. “I don’t know,” he mumbled through his mouthful. 

Ducking off the main walkway, they zig-zagged around the bodies sprawled out in the sun, some tangled together, heads resting on stomachs, some in their own worlds, iPods and magazines blocking out the hum of activity all around them. Kurt had been hopeful that a morning out in the city would be enough to distract Rachel from her hounding. No such luck.

“He said he wanted you to relieve some tension. What else could that be?” Rachel spun to face him and planted her hands on her hips. 

He’d been trying to put off this conversation all day, after she’d overheard him on the phone with his boss trying to secure some studio time for a private session. Unsuccessfully. She’d somehow wheedled out of him that there was a guy and the guy was named Blaine and Blaine was cute and sweet and maybe, possibly flirting with him. And she hadn’t let it go since.

“I don’t know, Rachel. He’s kind of a tense person! He was a boxer. He has this pent up energy and maybe he just wants some help.” Kurt waved his pretzel around wildly, salt flying off everywhere. Kurt sighed and shoved the rest into his mouth. It was too salty anyway.

“Pent up energy you say?” Rachel said, grinning and jabbing him in the ribs with her tiny, pointy elbow.

“Mmph!” Kurt listed to the side, rubbing what was sure to be a bruise later and trying not to choke on the rather huge bite he’d taken, bumping right into a jogger trying to pass by. He attempted to apologize, midwestern manners being hard to shake, but it ended up coming out completely garbled. He looked up, putting on his very best face of contrition. Even if it was Rachel’s fault. Meddling, spiny-boned Rachel.

“Kurt?”

No. Way.

Nine million people in the entirety of New York City, and this is who he bumps into? Literally bumps into. Kurt swallowed his bite of pretzel in one gulp, sticking dryly in his throat as he croaked out, “Blaine?” and then started to cough.

Rachel’s eyes lit up. Oh no.

“So you’re Blaine! Kurt was just talking about you.” Blaine’s eyebrows raised at that and Kurt tried really hard to not die of asphyxiation right in the middle of Central Park. “I am Rachel Berry. NYADA graduate. Rising Broadway star. Mezzo Soprano. And Kurt’s roommate, best friend and closest confidant.” Rachel reached forward, grasping Blaine’s hand and shaking it vigorously. Blaine stared at her wide-eyed before recovering and smiling politely.

“So nice to meet you, Rachel. Are you okay Kurt?”

Rachel waved him off. “He’ll be fine, he does that all the time,” she tipped forward, still gripping Blaine’s hand and pulling him closer. “Very strong throat muscles.” 

Blaine’s mouth dropped open.

Coughing finally quelled, Kurt gasped for breath and swiped a hand through the air to grab feebly at Rachel. Maybe if he tossed her in the pond she would shut up. 

“Not like that! From singing!” Rachel clarified, clutching a hand to her chest, scandalized. “Kurt’s a great singer. Did you know that?”

“I…no. No I didn’t.” Blaine looked over Rachel’s head to where Kurt was gathering himself back together and one corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile. “I’d love to hear it sometime.”

Kurt’s stomach swooped, he cleared his throat to reply, “Well, I don’t generally sing in class.” His voice high and weak. From the coughing, mostly the coughing. “But you may be onto something. The very first senior citizens yoga infused glee club. We’ll be a sensation.” Kurt wiggled his fingers and shimmied his hips a bit.

Blaine’s eyes briefly dropped down Kurt’s body. “Fantastic,” he murmured. Kurt blushed at the attention, but steadily held Blaine’s gaze when his eyes flitted back up. Definitely flirting. Well, then. Kurt never has been one to back down from a challenge.

Blaine lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe away the sweat beading on his brow, offering a brief glimpse of his belly, defined and damp and hollowing with each panting breath. Kurt’s fingers itched to touch.

“Yes. Quite fantastic, indeed.”

Blaine’s head tipped to the side, mouth slowly curving into a grin.

“Well!” Rachel crowed, bringing the world crashing back down. “This is perfect!” 

Kurt really wished he’d thrown her into the murky pond water when he’d had his chance. 

“What is perfect, Rachel?”

“That you can’t sing in class. And that you were just telling me how there isn’t any available studio space for private lessons.” Rachel clapped her hands in front of her, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

He knew that look all too well. “That’s right, I can’t do a private lesson. Sorry, Bl-”

“At the gym!” Rachel cut in. “He can’t do it at the gym, but he does them at home all the time!”

“No, I-”

“And sings! And because I am such a generous person and an accommodating, thoughtful roommate I am more than happy to give you two time to work together. Privately. One-on-one. Relieve some tens-”

“Thank you Rachel, we get it!” God, he really needed to get her a muzzle. He gave Blaine another apologetic look saying, “I think it’s time for her medication, we should be going. See you in class!” as he grabbed a protesting Rachel by the arms and started to lead her away. What was this fixation on his love life lately? Was he that pathetic? 

So most of his attempts at relationships had fizzled out or died before they even really began. And hooking up at a club was so not his thing. He just wanted someone kind and romantic and funny and smart and handsome. Someone he connected with. Something that didn’t feel like he was forcing it to work. Was that so much to ask, really?

“That sounds great,” Blaine called. Kurt let go of Rachel and spun around. 

“What does?” Crap. Had he been thinking out loud again?

“The session. At your house,” Blaine clarified. “Do you have your phone?”

Kurt fumbled in his pockets, why did he have so many pockets, until he finally found it tucked in the inside seam of his vest (because it wouldn’t ruin the line of his skinny jeans there, oh right) and handed it over. Rachel squealed and clutched at his arm and Kurt shrugged her off then threw her a look. 

Okay maybe her annoying need to insert herself into any situation, particularly if it had nothing to do with her, was occasionally useful. He’d tell her that later. Like after she stopped acting like a twelve year old girl meeting her favorite boy band member.

“Just, text me and let me know where and when…” Blaine started to tap at the screen, pursing his lips a little, then they parted into an o and his fingers froze over the phone. Blaine hastily handed it back, body already turned to start running again. “I have to go.”

Kurt didn’t even have a chance to respond before he’d taken off across the grassy field and back onto the footpath. Bewildered, Kurt watched him until he disappeared around a bend. 

“What was that about?” Rachel asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s starting to become a theme for us.” Kurt tried to shake it off, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath as he went to pocket his phone. 

Oh no.

How could he have been so careless? On the screen was Blaine’s name and number. Already listed in his contacts. From when he’d entered it in from the computer database. Like a giant creepy stalker.

And now he was finally starting to understand the obsession with fixing his love life.


	5. Chapter 5

Not surprisingly, Blaine didn’t show up to class, and a small, shallow part of Kurt was relieved. The part that just wanted to pretend like the whole incident never happened and just brush it aside and carry on. He couldn’t, of course. Couldn’t stop feeling mortified and guilty. Couldn’t stop thinking about Blaine and the way Blaine had looked at him sweet and flirty, but with something more brooding opaque behind his eyes. 

Blaine was, however, exactly where he had expected him to be. Kurt stood off to the side wondering just how often Blaine came down here to vent his frustrations and take out his anger on swaying bags of sand. He could almost see it there, thrumming below Blaine’s skin pulled tight over the straining muscles of his arms, the sharp angles of his bones, the lurch of his body as he hit the bag over and over. 

It should have frightened him, maybe. He’d witnessed first hand what that kind of deep-seated anger could do. How quickly it could spiral into hate. Into violence. But he had seen Blaine’s tenderness, too. A vulnerability that he was keeping tucked in close to his heart. Something Kurt understood, even though he had protected his own fragile heart with words instead of his fists. 

So no matter how angry Blaine was with him, Kurt knew he had to make things right and then back off. If Blaine still wanted anything to do with him, Kurt would just have to let him take the lead from then on. And he really needed to stop being weird. Starting with removing himself from the corner where he was watching Blaine box, in shorts and a white tank practically see-through with sweat.

Not being creepy. Right.

Kurt drew himself up to his full height, lifted his chin high and strode across the room, taking a deep breath. “I apologize for taking your phone number from our member database. I was concerned about you after you left your first day, but it was unprofessional and inappropriate and if you would like to drop my class, I understand.” 

Kurt refilled his lungs, nodding to himself. He’d worked on perfecting that speech all weekend and was pleased to note that he’d delivered it flawlessly.

Blaine paused briefly with his hands tucked in close to his body, then flicked his head to the side and resumed punching. Kurt bit his bottom lip and watched, unsure of what to do or say. He hadn’t really thought past the part where he’d said his piece. A bit of an oversight, he had to admit.

“So…I’ll just be going then…”

The only response was the dull thud-thud-thud of Blaine’s gloved hands connecting with the punching bag. Kurt lifted up on his toes to turn away when Blaine stopped the rapid-fire movement of his fists.

“It was a total knockout.”

“Sorry?”

“My last fight. Knockout. First round, just flattened me.” Blaine gestured with his right hand, jabbing the glove through the air like a cobra striking, then rubbed the padded end of the glove against his temple. “The concussion was so bad that I needed surgery to stop the bleeding in my brain. Told me I couldn’t fight anymore. That if it happened again it would kill me.” 

“Blaine, I had no idea…That must have been awful.” 

Blaine shrugged and laughed humorlessly, his hands falling limp at his sides. “But you know what the worst part was? Not the pain. Not the humiliation. Not the fact that I blame myself for screwing everything up and ruining my life.” Blaine tuned back to the bag and hit it once, hard, but off-center and unbalanced and he stumbled forward until his shoulder came to rest against the vinyl. “The worst part was being broken and alone and realizing that no one cared. If I didn’t have championship titles or sponsors or a cut of my winnings to give them, they didn’t care. I was nothing to them. Nothing.”

Kurt stood, sad and stunned as Blaine stripped off his gloves and tucked them under one arm, all the fight drained out of him. His eyes softened and a tremor of a smile flickered on his lips.

“And then my brother convinced me to take a yoga class, like he’d found the key to spiritual enlightenment, even though I’m pretty sure he’s never actually done any yoga in his entire life, and I thought, what the hell you know? Not like I have anything else going on. And then there you were.” Blaine’s eyes studied Kurt intently. “You saw me, Kurt. Me. And you cared. You don’t even know me, and you care about me. And to tell you the truth? That kind of scares the shit out of me.”

“Oh,” Kurt breathed, unsure of how to respond. He’d been through so much more than Kurt could have imagined. Kurt knew he’d unwittingly come on too strong and probably cared too much. But Blaine was still here. Opening up to him. And Kurt still cared. “Well, if it makes it any easier I was less motivated by altruism and much more by the fact that you have really pretty eyes.”

Blaine stared at him for a beat, then broke into a grin, a full one, shaking his head. “You really are something else.”

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. “That does seem to be the overriding theme of my life, yes.”

Blaine planted his free hand on a cocked hip, saying “come here,” as he held out the boxing gloves with the other. “Put these on.”

Kurt stepped closer and wrinkled his nose. “Are they sweaty?”

“Probably,” Blaine replied, slipping the first one over Kurt’s hand. “You have something against getting sweaty?”

“Depends on the occasion,” Kurt quipped, letting Blaine tighten both straps with a speculative hum. “So what are we doing?”

“You’re going to teach me yoga and as payment, I’ll teach you to box.” 

“I generally prefer cash. Or a gift card to The Cheesecake Factory at the very least.” 

“Shhh, focus.” Blaine settled his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, positioning him directly in front of the punching bag. “Now, plant your feet, like that yeah. And bend your knees.” Blaine’s hands slid from Kurt’s shoulders and down his arms as he moved in closer, saying into Kurt’s ear from behind him, “Keep your arms tucked in. You always want to remember to be defensive and not just go in for the attack. Keep your guard up.” 

Kurt bent his arms in front of his face and tried bouncing on his toes, though he imagined the effect was more Tigger than Tyson. Blaine chuckled behind him, warm breath puffing against Kurt’s neck, spreading goosebumps out across his skin. 

“Focus on using your shoulders and legs for strength.” Blaine’s hands trailed back up, from shoulder to shoulder, then a fleeting touch to Kurt’s thighs. Kurt narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on sending energy to his core, breathing deeply, trying not to think about the heat of Blaine’s body, the tremors left in the wake of his touch, the heady scent of him inviting and inebriating, his voice murmuring low, “now, Kurt.”

He hit the bag; one-two, one-two, one-two, the blows reverberating through the gloves and his skin and humming in his bones. 

“Good, right?” 

Kurt turned, his eyes finding Blaine’s, hopeful and searching. 

“Yeah,” Kurt replied. “That was…something.”

Blaine circled around him, reaching out to remove the gloves from Kurt’s tingling hands. 

“That was power. Strength. The only time I ever felt safe was when I was fighting, as strange as that sounds.” He tucked the gloves under one arm, opening and closing one dangling strap with a harsh rip of velcro.

“It makes sense,” Kurt shrugged. “Like you said, you have to keep your guard up.” 

“Well. Maybe I could try letting it down a little.” 

Kurt’s heart gave a little flutter in his chest. “Well in that case I solemnly swear that I will not knock you out.”

Blaine tipped his head, eyes low, lips softly curved. 

“I think it may be a little too late for that, Kurt.”


	6. Chapter 6

The damn throw pillows had been frustrating him all morning. He’d decided on adding a few more, blue velvet to highlight the subtle stitching of the larger patterned pillows behind them, but as he passed the couch again after sweeping the kitchen he sighed and removed them. Then put two back. Then removed them again. Maybe he should move the larger ones and keep just the smaller. What was the exact number of pillows that said: Please sit. Make yourself at home. And if you happen to be so comfortable that we end up making out a little, well, that is perfectly reasonable. 

 

“Kurt.”

“We need different pillows. These are all wrong.” Kurt shook his head, gathering all of them into his arms.

“Kurt.”

“Does Ikea deliver? Wait, I think I have some fabric that would be perfect!” Kurt tossed the pillows down in a heap on the floor and flung open the hall closet where he’d shoved his sewing machine and fabric and design books.

“I really don’t think Blaine cares about our pillows, Kurt.” Rachel pointed out, slamming the refrigerator closed and brandishing a takeout container at him.

“I care, Rachel,” Kurt said, crouching down with his head buried in a tupperware bin filled with partially used fabric bolts. “Is calico too garish?” He wondered out loud. “What am I saying? Of course it is. Why do I even own this?” he tossed the red fabric emblazoned with obnoxious yellow flowers to the back of the closet with a thunk.

“Because I bought that prairie skirt and you kept threatening to make me a bonnet to match so I told you to go right ahead and do it so you bought the fabric but then you starting teaching yoga and stopped sewing so you never did.” Rachel piped up from behind him.

Kurt settled on his knees, running his fingers reverently over the different colors and textures slotted together, the sewing machine shadowed in the corner like a ghost, all of his sketches and ideas tucked away and hidden, and Kurt felt oddly like he’d turned his back on old friends, moved on without ever saying goodbye.

“Do not challenge me, Kurt Hummel. I will wear a prairie bonnet,” Rachel mumbled through a mouthful of food. 

“It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve- god Rachel, what are you eating? Rotting feet?” Kurt covered his nose and mouth with his elbow and rose up from the floor, eyes watering.

“Oh. It’s called stinky tofu, but it’s delicious, I swear. Want some?” Rachel offered him a wobbling, greasy spoonful as he backed away. 

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Kurt replied, struggling to open the old painted over window in the living room. “Ugh, it’s stinking up the whole house.” Kurt grunted, as the window budged and started to creak open, bit by bit, when the intercom buzzed. 

“Oh crap, he’s early!” Kurt looked around the apartment in a panic, pillows in a pile on the floor, contents of the closet strewn all over the hall, and the smell, oh god the smell. “Let him up, then get rid of that. Eat it. Throw it away. Set it on fire and send it back to the sulfurous depths of hell from whence it came, I don’t really care which.”

Rachel made a face as she pushed the button to let Blaine into the building, then dumped the carton in the trash and bagged it up. “I’ll just drop this off on my way out, then.” She humphed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, calling out, “have fun!” as she strode out the door. 

Kurt hastily threw the pillows back onto the couch and glared at them. Nothing about that arrangement encouraged making out at all. 

“Kurt?” He startled and looked up to see Blaine poking his head through the open door cautiously. “I saw your roommate on the way up, she said to go ahead in?”

“Yes,” Kurt smiled and gestured for him to come in, no need to panic, Blaine was here now, time to be cool, calm and collected. “I have the mats set out by the window, go ahead and pick one. I’ll just clean this up and be right there. Sorry about the smell.” 

Cramming the contents of the closet back in with his foot, Kurt struggled against the tide of junk resisting his efforts to close the door, grimacing when the bin tipped forward, the door bouncing open and sending a sketchbook skidding across the floor and into a wall, flinging open with a flutter of paper.

“I swear I am actually a very neat, organized person,” Kurt sighed as Blaine picked up the book to hand it back. “There just isn’t much closet space. Not much space period, but that’s the price you pay for living in New York. What I wouldn’t give for a walk-in closet.” Kurt rambled.

Blaine had paused, arms outstretched, and he looked from the book to Kurt and back again. “Are these yours?”

“Oh. Um,” Kurt took it from his hands, then shoved it and the bin back in the closet, slamming the door quickly before anything else could tumble out. “I may have dabbled in fashion design a bit.”

“They’re incredible, Kurt.” 

“Well unfortunately no one else seemed to think that.” He led the way back to the open space he’d cleared in the middle of the room. 

“They’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” Kurt said with a tight smile. “Shall we?” 

Kurt eased himself down, bending his legs until the soles of his feet touched, thighs spread apart. “Just a simple butterfly pose to start and some deep breathing.”

“What about an internship? I’m sure any magazine or designer would love to take you on and show you the ropes.” Blaine flopped down across from him and Kurt flicked his gaze away.

“Mmm. Let’s try a Lotus Pose now.”

“Or just start your own label, open an online shop-”

“You aren’t paying attention. Lotus.”

“Or a stall at the farmer’s market!”

“Blaine.” 

“Kurt.”

Kurt looked away from his focal point on the wall to where Blaine’s knees were bent and almost touching his own, fingers curved over, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Look, I tried, okay? Schools, internships. It just didn’t work out. The fashion industry is really cutthroat and I had bills to pay, sushi habits to support.” Kurt shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Blaine’s fingers fanned out to brush against Kurt’s. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. It’s just, you’re really good.” 

Kurt tentatively reached his own fingers out to tangle with Blaine’s. “I know. But I’m good at this, too. Sometimes dreams change.”

“Sometimes they’re snatched away from you.” His hands flexed, curling Kurt’s tightly in his grasp. “If you still have the option Kurt, you shouldn’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Kurt snapped, pulling his hands away and shifting into a kneel. “Lunge.”

Breathing deeply, Kurt felt immediately calmer at each slow exhale and the familiar burn and ache of his muscles as he stretched and pushed them to the limit. Blaine was being intrusive, but it wasn’t like he’d said anything that Kurt hadn’t thought already, late at night, after another day of just getting by, just existing, his constant mantra of soon, soon, soon. He would get back to perusing his dreams. Soon. Only the day never seemed to come. 

Frustration building again, Kurt went automatically into his usual workout, needing something more challenging to channel his energy. He squatted, back curved and limbs tucked in, then lifted up so he was supported completely by his arms, legs pulled up tight, his body suspended and curved like an apostrophe. Breathe. In. Out.

“Ah!” a thud broke his concentration, then a muffled huff of laughter and Kurt lowered himself down next to where Blaine was splayed on his stomach, face pressed into the floor. “I think that may be too advanced for me,” Blaine said, turning over onto his back with a grin.

“Right. Sorry about that,” Kurt looked away, studying the dust motes dancing and twirling in the beam of light coming in from the open window. “I’m not giving up,” he said softly. 

“Good,” Blaine replied, lifting his hand to brush a lock of hair away from Kurt’s forehead. Kurt leaned into the touch and swallowed thickly. Blaine smiled, then laughed, “you should have warned me about yoga injuries. I think I’m mortally wounded,” Blaine said, rubbing his nose with the heel of his hand.

“Oh yes, I can see how much you’re suffering.”

“I really am.”

“Hmm,” Kurt hesitated, biting his lip, then quickly leaned down to drop a kiss to the tip of Blaine’s nose. “Better?”

“Not quite.” Blaine’s hand came up again to cup his jaw, gently pulling him in for a kiss, his lips warm and soft and pliant, then pulled away, eyes searching Kurt’s with that familiar look of hope and hesitance, like he was afraid of his own feelings, his own desires.

Kurt surged down to press their mouths together, slipping his hand into Blaine’s hair to angle the kiss better. Breathing in harshly through his nose, Blaine’s lips parted, and Kurt took the opportunity to nip at them gently.

Blaine let out a quiet whimper and Kurt licked into his mouth, Blaine twitching and panting out breaths, clutching at Kurt’s back and letting Kurt take control. Kurt shifted onto his elbows so he could hold Blaine’s head in both hands, the pad of his thumb finding the scar on Blaine’s temple, tracing the line of it all the way up, then back down, saying through his lips and his tongue and his breath and his touch: It’s okay to want this. I promise I won’t hurt you.

Kurt slotted his leg between Blaine’s, up to where he was growing hard already, and Kurt felt dizzy with it all. Blaine underneath him. Blaine’s tiny moans and rocking hips. Blaine taking and responding so perfectly. He wanted. Wanted like he hadn’t in… ever. He’d never felt this kind of connection with anyone, white-hot desire spreading like wildfire through his veins and all he could think was more, more, more. 

“Kurt,” Blaine groaned.

“Bedroom,” Kurt choked out, “We can. I want to.” But Blaine stopped him with a hand resting soft on his cheek, a look of regret in his eyes. 

“No,” he whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt scrambled back immediately, icy cold shame stamping out the flames of desire. He’d read the situation wrong. Once again, he was looking so hard for love that he’d forced a relationship where there wasn’t one. Made the entire thing up in his head. What if Blaine wasn’t even interested in him like that? 

But they had been flirting, he was sure of it. For weeks now.

And Blaine had kissed him. 

“No?” Kurt repeated, willing his voice to come out confident, challenging. Not shaky. Not hurt.

Blaine sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’m screwing this up already.” He crooked his legs and took Kurt’s hand, folded it between his own. “Look, I’ve done the hooking up thing, and I don’t want- not that I don’t what to! I do, you are so- I mean look at you…”

Kurt frowned and looked down at himself, soft cotton shirt, yoga pants, bare feet. Hardly anything to get excited about. “If you think this is thrilling you should see me on laundry day. I’m talking sweats, stained t-shirts. It’ll knock your socks off.”

Blaine pressed his lips together, grin flirting at the edges, then looked down to their joined hands. “I really like you Kurt. A lot. And I want to do this right.” 

Kurt had been mostly kidding about the persuasive power of Blaine’s eyes, but when he looked up the sunlight was catching his face, irises flashing ochre and honey gold, but more than that there was just so much in the way he looked at Kurt. He didn’t understand why or what he’d done to cause it. But he badly wanted to be whatever it was that Blaine saw. 

“…do you? Is that okay?”

Kurt realized with a start that Blaine had been talking to him. Asking him something, more specifically. His cheeks flushed red at the realization that he had actually gotten lost in Blaine’s eyes. 

He should say yes. Yes was a safe answer. Unless Blaine had just proposed that they go to an orgy. That didn’t sound like Blaine but he should say no, just in case.

“Um?” Kurt finally said, squeezing his eyes closed immediately after it had left his mouth.

But Blaine laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll ask again. Will you go out with me, Kurt?”

“Like a date?” Kurt peeked one eye open.

“Like a date,” Blaine replied warmly. 

They made plans for Saturday, Blaine insisting on picking Kurt up and making the dinner reservations, claiming it was only fair as he’d done the asking. All throughout the rest of the session it was teasing touches and silly grins and Kurt’s heart felt light and free. When he finally left, hours later, Kurt couldn’t resist pressing one last parting kiss to Blaine’s smiling mouth before he ducked out the door. 

Which of course was when Rachel came back, raising a hand to her head in a dramatic pantomime of a swoon behind Blaine’s back. Kurt rolled his eyes and closed the door behind her, tasking himself with a bottle of Febreeze to eradicate the pungent smell of Death By Tofu from the apartment. (He may have chased a squealing Rachel around with it, too. Just to be thorough.)

He felt like he was floating the entire week, running through his classes and errands and morning yoga routine on automatic, turning giddy and breathless whenever Blaine sent him a sweet text.

Do you have any allergies? (No.)

Is a dozen roses overkill? (Probably.)

Japanese food? (Yes. Very much yes.)

and

I can’t stop thinking about you, is that weird? (No.)

He’d even found himself hunched over his sewing machine on Saturday afternoon, inspired by a decadent swath of textured red silk that had been unearthed in the great closet spill, and fashioned himself a tie. The perfect pop of color under a charcoal pinstriped vest and sleek black dress shirt. 

Rachel went out for the evening and Kurt was left with plenty of time to fix his hair, then wash it out and fix it again, triple-check the fit of his pants, twisting in the full-length mirror to make sure they created the silhouette that he intended them to, scrutinized his pores and brushed his teeth. Again. He was just starting to get irritated at the frustrating imperfection of the throw pillows once more when the buzzer went off. 

Kurt was eternally grateful that Rachel had gone out earlier, because this time? He was most definitely swooning.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathed out in a whoosh of air. Blaine shifted on the spot, hair combed down neatly, in fitted slacks and a button down with a rather fetching bow tie that Kurt very emphatically approved of, and seemed to physically struggle to not look away. 

“Hi,” He pulled an arm from behind his back, thrusting a bouquet of yellow tulips with whorls of red feathering across the petals. “Um, these are for you.”

Kurt had an overwhelming moment of wanting to shout forget the date and grab Blaine by his trim little waist and hold him captive in the bedroom. 

But Blaine had gotten them reservations at Kyo Ya, and Kurt actually hadn’t been kidding about his sushi habit. 

He could feel the heat of Blaine’s gaze on him as he stretched to retrieve a vase from the high cabinet over the fridge. “You look amazing,” he said, sidling up to Kurt as he snipped the flower stems and settled them into the water. 

“Thank you,” Kurt smiled, positioning the vase so it could soak up the sunlight first thing in the morning. “You clean up rather nicely, I must say.”

Blaine lifted his chin to tug at his bow tie, sending a vision flashing across Kurt’s mind of his fingers replacing Blaine’s and deftly undoing it, brushing along his bobbing Adam’s apple. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had an occasion to get dressed up. I guess the whole cutoff shorts and ratty t-shirt combo wasn’t doing much for me, huh?”

Kurt gave in to the urge and brushed his fingers along the tie, Blaine’s hands falling away as he swallowed and Kurt watched his throat move, transfixed. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Blaine’s fingers closed tight around Kurt’s bicep, pulling him closer and tipping forward as he captured Kurt’s lips. Kurt spread his hands out over either side of Blaine’s jaw, feeling the shift and flex of it as they worked their mouths together, then shuddered out a breath after pulling away.

“I changed my mind,” Blaine said, chasing after Kurt’s mouth and stealing another kiss. “I want to. I really, really want to.” 

Kurt thumbed along the line of his jaw, sliding their lips together again, then again, wanting nothing more than to hold Blaine there, captive under his touch. Everything about Blaine felt right. Blaine was just- it was right.

But Kurt forced himself to step back. Going out, getting to know each other better; that was right, too. “If you think you’re getting out of spending your life savings on buying me all the sushi I can eat, you are sorely mistaken.” He turned and crooked his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Blaine grinned and hooked their arms together. “We shall.”

The date was wonderful. Easy, comfortable, familiar. Kurt found himself enamored over the way Blaine’s nose would crinkle when they joked together, the solid weight of his palm over Kurt’s when they talked about the torment and trials of their pasts, the way he would rest his temple on his knuckles and look away whenever the conversation got too serious.

Kurt leaned back against the end of the bar at the front of the restaurant as Blaine settled the bill, watching the smooth, easy flow of his body as he stood, slid his wallet in his pocket. Tracked him as he walked across the dim room, gliding around tables and patrons, something so quietly powerful in the way he moved. Then Blaine spotted him from the other end of the bar, a radiant grin spreading slow and sure across his face.

“Can I buy you drink?” 

Kurt’s attention shifted, dragged away reluctantly from Blaine as he pushed through the crowd to join him at the bar, sparing a brief glance to the man dropped on an elbow and leaned much too far into Kurt’s personal space. He was good looking enough, Kurt supposed. “No thank you.”

He sought Blaine out again, nerves flitting up in warning at the unwanted attention, then climbing more insistently when he was unable to spot Blaine among the laughter and drinking and flirting and inane conversation surrounding him.

“Okay then, how about we just go right to the part where you come home with me?”

That Kurt didn’t even bother to acknowledge, instead standing up from the bar, spine lengthening, angling his shoulders and elbows and hips so he was sharpened and closed off. Even if he hadn’t been on a date, there was not a chance in hell. 

“I’m here with someone,” Kurt finally said shortly. Blaine popped out of the crowd flustered and hair a little disheveled, coming loose at his temples. “I was just leaving.”

The guy smelled like alcohol and stale sweat, lumbering unsteadily to grasp at Kurt’s elbow as he started to walk off, misjudging the distance and pressing his clammy chest along Kurt’s arm. 

All of Kurt’s defenses snapped up at once, body going rigid, lip curling in disgust, ready to send him sniveling away with a cutting remark. But Blaine got there first.

Kurt’s arm was released so quickly that he stumbled forward, the drunken would-be suitor suddenly thrown against the bar, disoriented and scrambling for equilibrium, glasses and bottles scattering with the unpleasant clang of glass upon glass and sloshing fluids, gasps and murmurs of the people immediately nearby.

The man put his hands up defensively, slinking along the bar as Blaine rounded on him, eyes gone narrowed and dark, jaw clenched so tightly Kurt could see the knot of muscle bulging out, that current of hot fury emanating from every inch of him. Dangerous. Blinding. Desperate.

“Hey,” Kurt said, stepping in front of Blaine, trying to catch his fixed gaze, to break him free. “Blaine.” His fingertips grazed Blaine’s arm and he flinched away, wild-eyed, then spun to face him, both arms coming up reflexively into fists, ready to fight.

Forgotten, the guy lurched away into the watching crowd and for a moment Kurt worried that Blaine was unreachable or angry with him. That he thought Kurt had been trying to betray him and the air hung heavy between them as Kurt waited. As the crowd around them waited. 

“Kurt.” Anger cracking into heartbreak, something shattering behind Blaine’s eyes as his posture dropped, spent. “I’m so sorry, I-”

Kurt swooped in, close but not close enough, not in public, not with an audience. “Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay. Outside. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

The barest touch of their arms until they got outside into the warm, humid night air of New York in the summer, down the street and turning a corner into an alleyway with trash spilling from cans and crates stacked high in sticky puddles.

Then Blaine in his arms, tight and trembling, breathing out in a mantra against Kurt’s neck,

“ …sorry, so sorry. I wasn’t. I would never hurt you, I wasn’t…”

And Kurt shushed him, smoothed his wayward curls back into place. “I know. I know you wouldn’t. He was just some drunken idiot. He’s not worth it.”

Kurt slid a hand down Blaine’s arm, tangling their fingers together and pressing it between their bodies, his stomach rising and falling steady and slow against Blaine’s own panted breaths. 

“I saw him touch you and I just snapped.” A heaving sigh, a tremor flashing quick across his shoulders. “I still have all this anger and I don’t know what to do with it anymore and I’m terrified Kurt,” he stepped back, still holding tight to Kurt’s hand, and even in the dark Kurt was brought up short by the depths of Blaine’s eyes. “It just felt like- like I finally found you and I was losing you already.”

Kurt felt struck dumb by Blaine’s declaration, what it meant, what Blaine needed from him. Kurt’s instinct was to retreat, to crack a joke, to wave a hand around airily and declare that Blaine had only found him because Kurt’s overinflated nurturing instinct refused to take no for an answer. Instead he said nothing. Because he needed Blaine too. Hadn’t he known that from the start, really?

He roved his eyes over Blaine’s shadowed form, still drawn up tense and guarded, head turned away to the light pooling yellow from a street lamp, then moved in to press a hard kiss to Blaine’s lips, a whimper of surprise startling out of Blaine’s throat. “Okay.”

Blaine kissed back, mouth closed but seeking, wanting. “If you still want to, I live close by. Is that-”

“Yes,” Kurt exhaled, pressing back, giving, taking. “Yes.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Oh, it’s very…cozy,” Kurt decided, stepping past Blaine and into his studio apartment after a short but fairly tense cab ride. It was small. Really, really small. But the furniture and decorations were minimalist and warm; organized but lived-in. And clean, Kurt noted as he spun around in the main room, two windows with hunter green shades pulled closed, kitchen along the back wall, narrow but fully equipped, bathroom tucked in the corner, and ladder leading to- 

“Ooh, a loft bed,” Kurt said, tipping his head up to look over the low ceiling above the kitchen, the edge of a mattress just visible. “Very urban-chic.”

Blaine lifted up to his toes, hands tucked behind him, “That is a very diplomatic way of saying that I literally sleep in a hole in the wall.”

Kurt waved a dismissive hand, “No it’s very in. Very European.” He stepped over to the ladder. “Can I?”

Blaine raised his eyebrows, nodded. “Go for it.”

Kurt scaled the ladder, then climbed onto the bed, only realizing how forward he was being after he’d settled into the muted light of the little alcove in the ceiling. “Wow, I just invited myself into your bed.”

Blaine smiled, crawling across the bed, then sitting next to him and kicking his shoes off. They thunked onto the floor below carelessly and Blaine gestured to Kurt’s boots. “Yeah, I wish I’d known sooner what a great pick-up line ‘would you like to see my sleeping cubby’ would be. Could have saved myself a lot of trouble.”

Kurt slipped one boot off, gently setting it aside, raising an eyebrow at Blaine who winked in response. He hummed, then got the other off and tucked his legs under to face him. “So I take it you’re feeling better then?”

Blaine tensed and turned away. “Can we just forget that happened?”

“No.” 

“Kurt.”

“Blaine.”

Blaine sighed, bending his knees and wrapping both arms around himself like a cage. “It was stupid and I shouldn’t have- You can obviously take care of yourself and I’m not just some meathead who gets into bar brawls, I’m not.”

“So why did you snap then?” Kurt tentatively leaned over to rub a hand along Blaine’s back. He dropped his head to his arms, leaning into the touch.

“It just brought up some old stuff that I’d rather not deal with, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt passed his hand up and down the hunch of Blaine’s back, “Can we try something?”

Blaine lifted his head, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“Not like that,” Kurt clarified. Blaine stuck his lip out in a pout. “Stop,” Kurt laughed, moving to a kneel, his hair just brushing the low ceiling. “Lie back and take your shirt off, it’s too restrictive…What?”

Blaine tugged at the ends of his bow tie, “I’m getting a lot of mixed messages here, Kurt.” He quickly unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt and scooted back against the pillows. 

Then Kurt completely forgot the point of this whole exercise at the sight of Blaine’s bare chest and stomach, tawny skin over curving lines of muscle, divots of bone, prominent veins meandering up his arms and stomach, a trail of dark hair leading down an enticing path beneath the waistband of his pants. “Gorgeous,” Kurt whispered, realizing too late that he’d said it out loud.

Blaine smiled, “So was this the whole plan? Because I think I should get a turn to ogle you. It’s only fair.”

Kurt shook himself and batted at Blaine’s bent knee as he scooted closer. “No, I was going somewhere with this. We’re going to try some relaxation poses. I think they could really help you.”

Blaine sighed dramatically. “That doesn’t sound nearly as fun as what I had in mind.”

“Give it a chance.” Kurt took a deep, cleansing breath, forcing himself to transition into something resembling professionalism, his voice coming out low and soothing. “I want you to focus on breathing, filling up your diaphragm, then letting it slowly out. Lie in corpse pose.”

Blaine shifted around, body completely flat on the bed, hand curled on his stomach. “You’d think they could come up with a less morbid name,” he grumped.

Kurt clicked his tongue. “You have a better one in mind?”

“Mmm…Sunbathing Pose? Chillaxing position?” Kurt coughed a laugh at that one. Blaine grinned. “Laying-Half-Naked-In-My-Bed-With-A-Really-Hot-Guy-Pose?”

“Kind of wordy, don’t you think?” Kurt took both of Blaine’s hands and stretched his arms out along either side of his body.

“Well, you’d have to use an acronym, obviously.”

“Right, of course.” Kurt feathered his fingertips along the inside of Blaine’s arms, over the landscape of vein and bone and shifting tendons, across the knotted curve of his shoulder and across his chest. “I want you to breathe in slowly, filling up your diaphragm, then your lungs.”

Blaine did as Kurt instructed, eyes shuttering closed, and Kurt rested his hand on Blaine’s stomach, watching the slow rise up, up, then down until it hollowed concave once more.

“Good. Keep going, and with your next breaths imagine a cleansing energy flowing through you, gathering up the hurt and the anger and when you breathe out, you’ll release it from your body. Just, let it go.” Blaine lifted an eyebrow and looked at Kurt through slitted eyes. “Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, just do it.”

Blaine closed his eyes again and cycled through several deep breaths, the stilled air around them building as Blaine released lungful after lungful. Kurt moved his hand, tracing the plump outline of Blaine’s lips, the delicate membranes of his eyelids, lush eyelashes, then the scar on his temple. 

“I used to get beaten up. In school.” Breath in, in. Out. “Everyone talked about doing something. Threatening them with suspensions, maybe sending me to private school.” In. Out. “Nothing ever happened, though.” Kurt slipped his hand down again, over the steady thumping of Blaine’s heart. “If I let it go, then that means I have to forgive them. Not just the people who hurt me, but the ones who didn’t care enough to actually do anything about it.” Blaine’s eyes opened, darkening, heart picking up speed. “They don’t deserve my forgiveness.”

Kurt fanned his fingers over Blaine’s sternum, tips of his fingers pressed to the thump of his heart, chest filling with shallow breaths. “Turn over,” Kurt instructed. Blaine searched Kurt’s face, hesitating, but complied, rolling to his stomach with Kurt hunched over him. “Hands under your shoulders, elbows back. Now push your chest up and leave your hips and legs pressed down. This is Cobra Pose,” Kurt put one hand on Blaine’s back, pushing against his curved spine, one hand on his chest. “This will open your lungs and your heart. Let the energy flow out with every breath. Just be here, in this moment.”

Kurt breathed along with Blaine to guide him, close to his ear, feeling his chest widen and expand under his hands, his back still knotted with pent up tension.

“Do you?”

Blaine’s muscles trembled slightly with the effort of staying raised off the bed. “Do I what?” 

“Do you deserve your forgiveness?” Blaine’s posture faltered, Kurt pushing back against him to keep him steady.

Blaine’s head flopped down, turning to look sadly at Kurt. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“Forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves, Blaine.”

Blaine’s chest dropped to the bed suddenly, then he flipped over, shaking his head against the pillow. “You are very wise man, you know that?”

Kurt shrugged, hooking a finger through a belt loop on Blaine’s pants. “Actually I stole that quote from Suzanne Somers.”

The melancholy look on Blaine’s face slipped away, nose wrinkling with a wry grin. 

“Suzanne Somers, really?”

“Hey, judge all you want, but that Thigh Master thing was genius. Truly one of the most under appreciated minds of our time.”

Blaine smiled, one hand coming up to cup Kurt’s jaw. “I’m going to try.”

“The Thigh Master?”

“No, silly. That whole forgiveness thing. I don’t want my past to define me anymore. I don’t want to keep everyone out. I don’t want to be afraid.”

Blaine leaned up, his nose slotting next to Kurt’s as his lips pressed in, soft and seeking, and Kurt moved to lay himself down, lips moving together, soft sighs and gasping breaths passing between them. Blaine’s leg wrapped tightly around him as Kurt ran his tongue along Blaine’s lower lip, then hitched up higher as the kiss intensified, those soft breathy whines escaping Blaine’s throat.

This time it didn’t feel urgent or desperate, but tender. The slip of tongues and slide of lips. Kurt’s hands deft and sure unbuttoning and parting his own shirt, kissing a path from Blaine’s mouth to the hinge of his jaw, nuzzling and gliding down the slope of his neck, sucking across his chest, biting down on newly exposed hips and the sharp cut of muscle below. 

Kurt worked Blaine’s pants off, belt buckle jangling as he tossed it, and then his own clothes to the corner. Kurt brushed his mouth along the straining thickness of Blaine’s cock through his briefs, breath puffing out hot at the tip. A quiet groan rumbled from Blaine’s chest as his hands came down to grip onto Kurt’s hair and scrape along his scalp. “Kurt.”

“Let me in,” Kurt whispered. 

Blaine released him, arms once more going slack on the bed, swallowed. “Okay.”

Kurt eased off Blaine’s briefs, pushing Blaine’s knees up and spread as Blaine stretched a hand out to fumble in a basket tucked between the mattress and the wall, handing a bottle and a condom to Kurt, eyes dark but trusting, body relaxing.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Kurt instructed, dipping his head down to tongue Blaine’s balls and at the base of his shaft, then slipped one slicked up finger into the tight clench of muscle below. Blaine sighed slowly, whimpering and twitching his hips when Kurt added two, then three fingers, twisting and stretching.

“I’m ready,” Blaine said, voice high and thready.

Kurt kneeled up, pushing back against his thighs, then moved higher to kiss Blaine, his mouth parted, accepting, surrendering, opening to Kurt as he pressed in, in.

Blaine’s arms came up to hold snug to Kurt’s back, his legs twining around as Kurt’s hips canted and thrusted, pressed together mouth to mouth, chest to chest, heart to pounding heart.

Kurt shifted forward on his elbows to hold Blaine tight under his shoulders, the change in angle making Blaine’s back snap rigid, head flung to the side, a long, low whine streaming from his throat.

“Let go,” Kurt murmured, kissing Blaine’s clenched mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his eyes screwed shut, the scar. Blaine’s hips bucked up, cock sliding and pressing into Kurt’s belly, his muscles balled up impossibly tight. “Let go, honey.”

Blaine came with a soundless cry, arms flung out, legs dropping wide, head thrown back, neck exposed. Kurt pushed up onto his hands, taking in the spread of Blaine’s body, vulnerable, stripped and relaxed. Free. And Kurt let it wash over him, take him away, let himself have what he given up hope of having: something real. Something honest. Let himself have joy.


	9. Chapter 9

The sound of a jackhammer startled Kurt from a deep sleep, wisps of a rather pleasant dream scattering away as he blinked his eyes open. He could tell it was morning, the sounds of traffic and people shouting and the constant destruction and reconstruction of the city providing its usual early wakeup call. But the way the sunlight usually filtered into the gaps of the blinds in his room, the quiet din of his fan and Rachel puttering about the apartment - singing usually, or mumbling to herself - were absent. And Kurt felt like he’d had the best nights sleep of his life.

 

He rubbed his eyes and stretched in an attempt to rouse his body and mind, hand colliding with something warm and breathing next to him. Blaine. Blaine asleep, turned onto his stomach with his arms tucked underneath the pillow, face relaxed and content. Kurt felt a flush of warmth flood his body as he reached a hand out to brush Blaine’s hair back gently. 

And despite his libido’s very insistent desires, he peeled the covers back and scooted over to the ladder, shimmying on his underwear before climbing down into the brighter light of the living room. Blaine looked so peaceful that Kurt felt rude for wanting to wake him just because he was horny. Of course, doing his morning yoga in someone else’s house in nothing but his underwear was probably not the height of etiquette. Miss Manners would be appalled.

He was just getting into the zone, body bowing and shifting and flowing through the steps of a Sun Salutation to greet the day, when he felt warm hands tug gently on his hips, Blaine’s voice low and rough from sleep.

“I could get used to waking up to this.”

Kurt laughed, a little embarrassed at being caught bent in half at the waist and mostly naked; he’d really thought that Blaine was out for the count and he’d have time to run through a quick routine. But then Blaine pressed his hips in, hard cock rubbing insistent along Kurt’s ass, and embarrassment quickly became the least of his concerns.

Instead he unfolded himself and stood, stretching his hands up high above his head as Blaine plastered his naked body all along Kurt’s back, as hot and bright as the morning sun, arms snaking around to hold tight to Kurt’s waist and chest, and Kurt’s breath quivered on a long exhale.

“Well, good morning,” Kurt teased, voice gone high and breathy.

Blaine’s hand moved slowly down, past Kurt’s turned in bellybutton, the gentle slope of muscle below, then scratching through the dense hair underneath his briefs to stroke his hardening cock, the other clasping tighter around his ribs. “Mmm, it really is.”

Kurt felt like he was being wrapped up in Blaine’s, his body canting behind him solid and strong, radiant. Closing his eyes, he let the sensations take over, let his mind drift and float, body reacting and melting into Blaine’s, his arms dropping down behind their tucked together heads to tangle into messy curls as Blaine bobbed and tilted to mouth at Kurt’s neck and biceps and shoulders.

Kurt shoved his underwear off and away, fucking up into Blaine’s fist, then back, spread his legs so Blaine’s cock could slot in between his thighs and snug under the bottom curve of his ass. Blaine drove his hips in and out, the pulsing heat of his cock thrusting in under Kurt’s balls and slick against the base of his own cock, Blaine’s hand tight and perfect working him over. They both moaned long and low and soft; a quiet mantra, a chant, an om, and came like that, still twined around each other as the chaos of the city carried on below.

Blaine had a very small shower, allowing only for a little lazy making out under the spray of the water, and also made truly amazing pancakes. An old family recipe, or so he claimed, but refused to give Kurt the details so he was understandably a bit suspicious.

“If it’s Betty Crocker I promise not to judge.”

“Please,” Blaine scoffed, flipping the last batch onto a plate. “But if you’re jealous of my cooking skills I completely understand.”

Kurt swallowed his bite of pancake, lifted an eyebrow. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I didn’t have any plans, why?” Blaine set the plate down on the table, jutting out a hip, sweatpants riding low.

“Because,” Kurt drawled, popping the last bite into his mouth and chewing slowly. “You’re going to come over…” Swallowed deliberately, then licked his lips, pleased to see Blaine’s eyelids slip low, mouth parting. “And I am going to cook you a meal so delicious. So decadent. That it will make you weep.”

Kurt winked then and, feeling confident, smacked Blaine’s ass as he walked to the sink to drop his plate in. Blaine jumped in surprise, grin spreading slowly on his face, then crowded Kurt up against the sink and pulled him in for a syrupy kiss.

He was already mentally cataloguing all of his favorite gourmet recipes to impress Blaine with, trying to remember if he had any saffron left for a bouillabaisse or if it was too hot for soup and maybe he should make that duck breast with frisee salad he attempted a few months ago. 

Fitting his hands around the cut of muscle just above the waistband of Blaine’s sweatpants, he pushed down and let them drop, Blaine kicking them away as Kurt pivoted Blaine around, slipping his tongue in Blaine’s mouth before dropping to his knees. He’d worry about dinner later. He really had more important things to focus on at the moment.


	10. Chapter 10

“Okay, you win. Those were the most amazing omelets I’ve ever had.” Blaine slumped back against the pillows, rubbing his stomach over his t-shirt and sighing happily. “You have officially taken the title of master chef in this relationship.”

Kurt smiled, giddy and preening, both at the praise for his cooking and the fact that Blaine had referred to them as being in a relationship so casually and matter-of-fact. He moved the breakfast tray aside and shuffled over to settle into Blaine’s outstretched arm.

“So I slaved over quiches and risotto and scratch made ravioli and lasagna for you and all it took was a few scrambled eggs?”

Blaine hummed happily and nestled into the bed, tucking Kurt tighter in his arms. “Oh no, I needed the full Kurt Hummel culinary experience. Especially the desserts. A month with you and I’m probably eligible for heavyweight status.” Blaine rubbed up and down Kurt’s arm, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Or maybe I should try sumo wrestling instead.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, pushing Blaine’s shirt up to reveal the defined muscles of his abdomen and chest. “I don’t think you’re quite there yet.” He ducked his head to kiss down from the space between his ribs to the top of his hips, then back up, pushing impatiently at Blaine’s shirt until he twisted to the side to strip it off, not waiting until Blaine had settled back down to the bed before dragging his mouth all over Blaine’s torso.

“Eager this morning,” Blaine commented.

“You’re one to talk,” Kurt replied, cupping his palm over Blaine’s hardening cock hidden under the material of duvet and clothes. 

“It was the omelets. Chives get me hot, never fails.”

Kurt chuckled into the skin just over Blaine’s belly button, then mouthed back up to his chest again, pausing abruptly when Blaine stretched his arm up above his head.

“Blaine, what happened?” 

Blaine shifted onto his back, looking curiously down at Kurt where he’d stopped to hover over a spot just to the side of his chest, a large purpling bruise covering the top of his ribs.

“Oh,” Blaine quickly brought his arm down, scooting away from Kurt. “I met with a trainer the other day. Did a few rounds.”

Kurt sat up, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the edge of the bruise not hidden by Blaine’s arm, trying to shove away the dark images of Blaine, bloody and bruised, Blaine laying in a hospital bed alone, Blaine angry and brooding and broken. He pulled Blaine’s arm away gently, pressing his hand flat over the bruise like he could hide it, take it away, leach Blaine’s pain from his chest into the cavities of Kurt’s heart.

“Why?” So Blaine was boxing again, no big deal. He was still happy. They were still happy. And yet…

Blaine flinched away, turning his back to Kurt as he shrugged back into his shirt. Kurt could see the shift in his body, the lift of his shoulders, the hardening of his jaw, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the floor, even as he stood to face Kurt. And Kurt knew, knew before Blaine even opened his mouth to say softly,

“I was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fighting again.”

"Okay,” Kurt threw the covers off, padded over to the other side of the bed. “To stay in shape, or- If you’re stressed out again, I can help you. There are these other poses, supposedly they can unblock negative energy-”

Blaine stood, straightening his shirt. “It’s not a big deal. Just an amateur competition, not even close to the level I was at before.”

“Blaine, you told me that you can’t fight because it’s too dangerous. It can’t be worth it,” Kurt protested, following Blaine as he walked out of Kurt’s room and down the hall.

“I’ll be fine,” Blaine said shortly, slipping on his shoes, back turned. “I told you. I’m tired of my past defining me. I need to prove to myself that I can still do it.” He turned, flicked his eyes up at Kurt, wary, and held his hand out in the air between them. “I was hoping you’d come and support me.”

Kurt lifted his arm, then shifted back on his heels, crossing both arms over his stomach. “I won’t watch you kill yourself, Blaine. 

Kurt had expected a flash of anger. To see Blaine morph into the person he was before, guarded and defensive and lashing out at the world. But instead Blaine stared at him, eyes rounded with regret and sorrow and sadness. 

“I understand,” He said flatly, before turning the doorknob and stepping away, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Kurt spent the rest of that day and the next day after that locked in his room, sewing. It kept his mind off Blaine and whether or not he should call and whether or not this was their first fight or their last. The hum of the machine and the slip of the fabric through his fingers was cathartic and calming. He’d forgotten how easy it was to lose himself in creating something, not even consciously aware of what he was making until he was almost done.

Kurt leaned back, stretching out the kinks and knots in his back from being hunched over for so long and scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“Kurt?” A tentative knock on his door, then Rachel peeked her head in.

“What is the point of knocking if you’re just going to come in anyway?” Kurt grumbled from behind his aching fingers.

Rachel stepped into the room, “Because you would have just told me to go away,” She offered a steaming plate of food with a grin and a wink.

Kurt sighed, “Thank you, Rachel.”

“Anytime.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet out in front of her as Kurt ate, the food tasting bland and sitting thickly in his throat. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

Kurt set his head heavily on his fist and shrugged a shoulder. “Not really.”

“Okay, well. I mostly came in here because I heard you sewing and thought I’d offer you a job.” Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s part time and probably doesn’t pay much but the play I’m in needs a costume designer and the director asked me if I knew anyone and well…I know it’s not your dream job, but starring in an off-off Broadway production of Angelina Ballerina: The Musical wasn’t exactly my dream either.” 

Kurt chuckled, moving to sit next to Rachel on the bed. “Funny how life never works out the way you expect it to.”

Rachel rested her head on his shoulder. “Maybe it does, though. Or maybe life is just…about living. Without expectations. Life just happens.” She snuggled closer, patting his knee.

“Are you getting deep and philosophical on me, Rachel?”

“Living with you it was bound to happen eventually.” Rachel stood, bouncing out of the room, then ducking her head in once more. “You are going to find him, right?”

Kurt closed the door against Rachel’s squawk of protest, flicking on the sewing machine and pressing the foot pedal to finish the garment. He’d take the job, it was experience, it was a start and maybe Rachel was right. Life was just about living, experiencing, letting it happen. Letting things go. Wasn’t that what he’d told Blaine, after all?

Hunched over the machine once more, he let the steady rhythm of the needle through the fabric, stitch after stitch, line after line, push away thoughts of Blaine. His own words echoing mockingly through his mind: Let go.


	11. Chapter 11

It had really only been a few months, but it felt like years since Blaine had been in the ring. Blaine punched a few times in the air, ducked and bobbed against an invisible opponent with the familiar hollow thumping of his feet, the satisfying give of the floor. Imagined covering every inch of the ring going after some vicious and unrelenting opponent. Fighting back. Defending himself. Feeling like he would never be afraid or alone or tormented by his past ever again.

Until he did. 

Blaine dropped his fists and leaned back against the thick ropes surrounding the ring. He was to make his debut back into the competitive boxing world in an hour, the gym empty and darkened still, just clouded beams of sunlight filtering in from the high windows, dust floating lazily over the grey walls and grey floors. It all felt so hollow and desolate. Like all the thrill and exuberance and desire thrumming electric through his veins until he could send it bursting through his hands had gone. And Blaine knew exactly where it was now.

He was pretty sure he was never going to get it back. 

“The Feng Shui in this place is all wrong. And it’s in desperate need of some color.” 

Kurt. Blaine pushed off from the ropes, ducking under to jump down as Kurt strode in, hesitant but purposeful, in white skinny jeans and an oversized blue sweater the same unfathomable color of his eyes, something red and shimmering clutched in one hand. 

Blaine looked away to one of the opaque windows lining the ceiling, unsure of what to say. I’m sorry. Or, you came. Or the truth: I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you and I keep pushing you away because its so much. I need you so much. 

“Kind of smells like feet, too,” is what he said instead. But Kurt smiled, so bright and kind and open and it cracked Blaine wide open, just like it always did. “Kurt.” His voice tremulous, whisper soft, he reached for Kurt’s hand, pausing in the air between their bodies, nothing but hushed breaths and swirling dust between them until Kurt bridged the gap, slipping his fingers in between Blaine’s and Blaine let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

How long had he been holding his breath? 

“Look, Blaine. If this is something you have to do, then okay. I don’t like it. But I’ll support you. I just. I want you to be happy. More than anything.”

“You make me happy,” Blaine said, squeezing Kurt’s hand and watching his eyes soften.

A deep breath and a lift of his lips into a grin, then Kurt held up what he’d been holding in his other hand. “I um. I haven’t really known what to do with myself, this past week without you. I’m not used to feeling adrift. So, I made this. I wasn’t sure if had to be regulation or whatever but you could just use it as a robe or-”

Kurt shrugged, shaking out the folds of fabric, revealing a boxing robe, silky red with black trim and a hood, glinting in the choked off sunlight.

“That’s the same material as your tie.” Kurt blinked at him. “From our first date?” 

“Yeah, I- I remember.” 

The robe slipped from Kurt’s hands as he threw himself forward into Blaine’s arms, Blaine catching him around the waist as he stumbled backwards, suddenly overwhelmed with Kurt’s warm body and his clean scent and his breath puffing out and ruffling Blaine’s hair.

“I’m sorry for walking away from you.” Blaine held him tight, fingers clutching at a shoulder blade and Kurt shook his head.

“I would never ask you to give up your dreams for me.”

Blaine pulled back from the embrace, fitting his hands over Kurt’s jaw before pressing their lips together, once, then again and again until Kurt was panting and dark eyed.

“Someone much wiser than me once told me that dreams change. My dream changed. It never had you in it before.”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathed out.

“Of course he also quoted Suzanne Somers once so his wisdom may be questionable.”

Kurt laughed again, full throated and vibrant and Blaine was so glad for the way Kurt stripped him bare and left him raw and vulnerable; the way it let him feel, really feel for the first time in so long and who cared if it hurt sometimes? He’d rather feel everything Kurt had to offer him, pain and pleasure and joy and sadness, than to be so closed off he felt nothing at all.

Kurt kissed his cheek with a smack, then snatched the robe off the floor, muttering about dust and grime and silk, god before moving behind Blaine to slip it over his shoulders.

The fabric glided over his skin, smooth and luxuriant, it fit perfectly. “This is wrong.”

Kurt stepped away and frowned, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Does it not fit? It looks okay. I can alter it if you-”

“No, Kurt.” Blaine shrugged out of the robe, folding it gently then hugging it against his chest. “It’s perfect. Amazing.” Kurt tipped his head, waiting. “But I’m not going to fight. I don’t need it.”

“Are- Are you sure, Blaine. Not for me, not-”

“No. For me. For us. I’m done with it. I’m done fighting.” 

Blaine tucked the robe under one arm, pulled Kurt into his side with the other and lead them out of the arena. He didn’t know exactly what the future held, and he knew he still had work to do on himself, on not closing off and not protecting himself with anger and avoidance. But for the first time in a long time, the ground felt solid underneath him, the blurred edges taking on a sharp focus, his feet steadied on solid ground.

“I’m really glad you decided to take Yoga for Seniors. And here I thought that would be the last place I’d find love.”

Blaine’s chest tightened over his fluttery heart, stopping them on the sidewalk outside of the arena to take both of Kurt’s hands in his. Love. Kurt loved him.

“Sometimes our mistakes lead us to our destines,” He said, with an overly wide grin.

Kurt lifted his eyes to the sky and shook his head. “God, how obnoxious. No wonder you stormed out of my class.” Kurt looked back down and ran his thumb over the top of Blaine’s hand. “I’m glad we found each other again, though.”

“Me, too.” Blaine squeezed his hand tight.

Kurt cleared his throat and swung their hands between them. “So you just felt sorry for me and my bumbling attempts to befriend you, right?”

Blaine laughed and led Kurt onto the sidewalk and down the street, holding tight to one hand as the buzz of the city swelled up around them, Kurt’s grin a calming oasis in the unrelenting turmoil and upheaval of life.

“Kurt, you are wonderful and kind and utterly charming.” Kurt cooed and clutched his free hand to his chest, the Blaine ducked his head, batting his eyes shyly. “Or at least that’s the story we should tell out family and friends because honestly I was less motivated by that and much more by the fact that you have a really fantastic ass.”

Giddy excitement bubbled up inside Blaine as Kurt tipped his head back and laughed. “I think I can forgive you for that.”

“Really though. Not many people have taken the time to get to know me, the real me. And you were so patient and willing to be so available and flexible and I know it wasn’t easy-”

“It was worth it.” Kurt replied emphatically.

“Thank you,” Blaine replied, throat going thick, and kissed the knuckles of Kurt’s hand that was clutched to his.

“And Blaine?”

“Mmmm?”

“You have no idea just how flexible I am.”

Blaine had never expected that taking a yoga class for the elderly would be the best decision of his life, that losing everything he thought he’d cared about would mean gaining everything that he actually did. And most importantly, he realized as Kurt dropped his hand to walk in front of him, swaying his hips with a little wink, that it would be the most incredible stress reliever he’d ever tried. Screw boxing.

“Wait for me!” Blaine called, then chased after a laughing Kurt until they reached the front of his building, slipping his hands around Kurt’s waist from behind, resting them on his panting stomach, their breaths evening and slowing together as Blaine followed Kurt up the stairs and back home.


End file.
